


Vultures

by nodibs



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Spy, Death References, Hurt/Comfort, Louis is a badass, M/M, Romance, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-18
Updated: 2013-06-09
Packaged: 2017-12-08 21:12:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/766050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nodibs/pseuds/nodibs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis Tomlinson is the world's greatest and most hated spy, and that comes with a price, one that sits prettily above his head. Harry Styles has just been hired on as Agent Tomlinson's new handler. </p><p>"Copy that, babycakes."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I'm baaacckkkk. I couldn't stay away long. I really, really enjoyed writing No One Does It Better. I've been thinking about and planning this story since about chapter two of NODIB, and I'm excited to write it. Spy fics are so much fun to write. The first chapter should be up shortly. :) x
> 
> Inspired by this AU meme: http://princeharrehs.tumblr.com/post/43351027458/au-louis-is-a-spy-harry-is-his-handler

It’s funny, Louis thinks, how standing over the body of a dead man makes him feel more alive.

He doesn’t get a sick thrill from it, not like some people he knows. He’s never enjoyed the hunt, the end result of. A bad man is no longer breathing back toxicity, and that’s what matters. Hurt one, spare a few more, is how he regards it. He’d lose his mind any other way.

No, Louis feels more alive because it becomes a tangible reminder of his own mortality. He's become so jaded, so infinitely alone within his own mind, because his entire life is an honest lie. He’s put more bullets through the skulls of Evil than he cares to admit, and he’s escaped Death’s unforgiving claws with minor scrapes and bruises. He is the best at what he does, and it comes with a price, one that sits surely atop his head.

Wailing sirens float from the distance through a slightly cracked window on the penthouse suite of the, now deceased, biggest drug lord central London has seen in over two decades. Louis pockets the revolver in his hand and straightens his skinny black tie. He checks his watch, 19:00, and leaves through the open front door. Without another look back, he heads for the stairs.

It’s ironic, Louis thinks, to kill a man in his living room.

He kicks open the door leading to the roof, immediately ducking his head and jogging mildly over to the sleek black helicopter awaiting him.

“Agent Tomlinson,” Marcus, his boss’ ‘assistant’ (more like personally trained monkey), greets him as he hands Louis his headset.

“Mission accomplished. Target hit. Back to base,” Louis nods curtly, staring out the window as the chopper rises off the rooftop.

“Good job, as always,” Marcus comments, and Louis shoots him a hard look. “Mr. Waters would like you to know that your new handler is currently training with Agent Malik’s handler.”

Louis huffs, “I don’t need another fucking handler.”

“They’re only looking out for you, sir,” Marcus says with a smile and Louis resists the urge to roll his eyes. Marcus is an overeager overachiever with good intentions and a spectacular ability to let people walk all over him. He’s about Louis’ height, maybe an inch or so taller, with muddy brown hair and muddier brown eyes; he’s pale and skinny and has a fascination (obsession) with underwater volcanoes.  He’s fantastically boring, a face among faces that never haunts the minds of  eyes that pass him. Louis doesn’t like him.

“For myself or their investment?” Louis asks dully, staring out the window once more.

He doesn’t receive an answer, not that he really expected one. 


	2. One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Here’s chapter one. Please read the prologue if you haven’t. As always, feedback is always appreciated.Also, I am terribly sorry to all you Niall girls. I’ve got nothing against him. I love him to bits, but it had to be done! x
> 
> warning for this chapter: non-major character death, graphic violence, mentions of death.

Louis makes it back to HQ at 19:30 hours precisely.  He’s escorted through the rooftop entrance and to an elevator that takes him to the sixteenth floor of the dimply lit skyscraper. At 19:35 he walks through the towering twin dark mahogany doors that lead into his private office. Thunder rolls in the distance, and the stars hide behind darker clouds. The office is a collection of shadows, and Louis shuts the door after him, just as Marcus is starting to trail behind him, reading off the next day’s itinerary.

“Boss wants you in his office in twenty minutes, sir!” Louis hears Marcus call from behind the doors.

Louis sighs as he hears footsteps retreating. The meeting would no doubt be regarding his new handler, and to say he doesn’t have a lead weight heavy in his chest would be a lie. He’s been steadfastly refusing a new handler. He’d been doing just fine on his own for four months now, but Boss ordered his silence on the matter, said it wouldn’t be like last time, not again.  His last handler was taken hostage by _the_ Mario Nerezza at the end of last year.

Mario Nerezza was a large, bald Italian man with a bad attitude, a penchant for all things criminal, and a particular hatred for one Louis Tomlinson. You name it, Mario had a hand in it: drugs, prostitution, human trafficking, thievery of all kinds, fraud, counterfeit, kidnapping, and murder. He had an entire organization that he controlled, departments lead by felons who looked at their crime as a craft. But Louis saw him for what he truly was: a coward, a failed son of his father’s expectations, an emotional toddler who wanted attention.

Mario’s hatred for Louis started when Louis was still in training. He aided his superior in a small warehouse raid that turned out to be Mario’s older brother Carlo’s hide-out. Carlo had been on the run from the police for a year and a half for killing an unarmed, off-duty officer outside a convenience store in Birmingham in seemingly cold blood. He turned out to be into a lot more than cop killing, though. The warehouse was full of hostages, bound and gagged - mostly women, mostly prostitutes. Carlo had tried to fight, tried to shoot his way out, and then he tried to run. He didn’t get far before he had a bullet in his back straight Louis’ gun.

Six months later, Louis, now Agent Tomlinson, walked into his brand new office only to find his former partner’s wedding ring resting in the middle of his sleek glass desk. He’d later find that the ring had been removed in the morgue, off the dead body of the man who taught him everything he knows about never getting caught. That night, when he couldn’t sleep and found himself far too curious, he logged onto the database and unlocked pictures from the scene where his superior had been found – horribly mutilated and with an ‘M’ carved into the inside of his right bicep, just over the ‘H’ he had tattooed there.

This was three months before Louis found himself locked inside a barn, somewhere in the North, tied to a chair, beaten and horribly dehydrated as he watched Mario circle him in tighter and tighter circles until he leaned down and, with absolute malice, promised to destroy Louis.

Mario then walked out, just like that. Louis broke his bonds and made it back to base where the in-house medic treated him. By then, Louis’ eyes had been glazed over by impending vindication. This was a fight, and it was personal. What followed lead to a three day hunt of Louis finding nothing but dead ends, cold trails. He found himself in Greece when he got the call.

\---

“ _Agent Tomlinson,” greets Mario smoothly. Louis says nothing. “You know, London’s quite nice this time of year.” Louis feels his heart sink. “I never did spend enough time here. Though, I’m sure you’re enjoying Greece, yes? I do hope you are. I must say, though, Mr. Tomlinson, you should really listen to your babysitter. It’s well past your bedtime.”_

_“What is it you want, Nerezza?” Louis spits._

_“Your pain,” the words are fired like bullets, promises. “You will meet me by sunrise at the place where this started – alone.”_

_\-----_

_Louis caught the next flight to London and makes it to the warehouse at 04:07 hours. When he arrives at the warehouse, he’s struck by how different it looks. It’s the same grey, stone structure that stood nearly a year ago, but the weeds have overtaken, crawling up the walls and cracking their foundation._

_Louis walked the pathway to the door slowly before pausing at its doors. He pulled on his suit jacket, straightening his skinny black tie and took a deep breath. Then, without a moment of hesitation, kicked the wooden door open, pulling his gun from the holster hidden to his side at the same time. He reaches quickly for the flashlight in his jacket pocket, holding it securely above the gun as he moves forward cautiously._

_He scans the wall about 20 meters before him. It holds a cracked wooden door half off its hinges that hangs open in invitation. Louis moves stealthily to the left, checking the right corners, and presses his back to the wall next to the door. He breathes quickly twice just before he pops around the corner, inspecting the left. Just as he goes to scan around again, he hears a crack, and then he hears a chuckle._

_“Agent Tomlinson,” Mario says just as the bright, industrial florescent lights are turned on overhead. Louis closes his eyes and forces them to adjust quickly, whipping his gun around to the direction of the heavy Italian accent, his finger never having left the trigger. When Louis opens his eyes once more, he stutters, a moment of vulnerability flashing in his eyes, a moment that Mario drank in like wine, became absolutely drunk off the power of it. “You know,” he begins, moving to stand beside who Louis recognises as Mario’s only son Thomas, 11-years-old, “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t show. You’re, er, friend here isn’t much conversation,” he laughs darkly, pointing to a very restrained Niall Horan._

_Niall’s a lanky, blond Irishman with a spark in his eyes that never dimmed and a deep love for all things technological. Louis went through training with him, had actually gone to school with him for a while when they were younger and Niall’s dad had a job that required them to move every two years. They didn’t always get along, both incredibly strong, boisterous personalities, but they bonded like brothers somewhere along the way. Niall is the only person Louis could ever think of trusting with his life._

_Right now, though, Niall had his head bowed, his mouth taped shut, his hands and feet tied to tightly to a wooden chair sat in the middle of the room, his shirt torn and blood-soaked. He looked defeated, already gone, like he accepted that this is where it would end. Louis heart sunk, but he so quickly adjusted, putting his walls up even higher, locking his eyes on Mario but focusing on the slow breaths coming from the boy in the chair._

_“This is over, Nerezza. Let him go,” Louis grits, keeping his stance strong._

_Mario smirks, “You’re right about one thing, Louis,” he spits the name, walking casually over to where Niall hung, “This is over.” From the inside of his leather jacket, he pulls a handgun, pressing it surely to the short and soft blond hairs covering Niall’s temple._

_“You do it,” Louis starts, voice cold, “and I’ll shoot him,” he warns, turning his gun on Thomas._

_“You won’t, Louis,” Mario says, running his fingers through Niall’s hair in faux fondness, “He is a child.”_

_“He is a criminal in training,” Louis grits out, “It’s going to happen sooner or later.”_

_Mario only smiles, looking down at Niall, pressing the gun more snugly to his skull, “I have so looked forward to this moment. You know what the difference between us is, Louis?” he asks in near nonchalance._

_“Mario, drop the gun,” Louis demands._

_“It’s that you care too much about people,” he says surely._

_“Drop the gun and step away from the hostage,” Louis says louder._

_Mario give his son a sideward glance, and before Louis can register it, the boy takes off behind a mountain of boxes, toward what is no doubt the back entrance Louis had used in his investigation of the boy’s uncle. Louis falters for only a fraction of a second before turning his gun on Mario flexing his finger on the trigger, not having a clear shot as Mario crouches half-behind Niall’s chair, his gun slowly turning sideways._

_“And I don’t,” Mario continues._

_“Step away from the hostage, Nerezza!” Louis shouts, desperation catching in his voice._

_Without so much as blinking, Mario stands quickly, pulling the trigger and killing Niall immediately. Louis pulls the trigger without taking time to aim, the bullet going through Mario’s neck, just above where the bullet-proof vest beneath his shirt hid. As he fell to the ground, Louis ran to Niall’s side, cutting his binds and bringing him to the ground. “17 to HQ, 17 to HQ I need assistance at Warehouse 00983. Man down, we have a man down. Niall Horan,” he yells into the microphone embedded in his suit jacket’s collar._

_“HQ to 17, paramedic en route. Mission number and status?” he hears the voice of the head emergency department call back through his in-ear wire._

_“Just send the M.E.,” he sighs, running his hands over Niall’s shirt, “Non-official. Personal, but complete. One other casualty.” he finishes._

_“Name?”_

_“Mario Nerezza.”_

_“Agent Tomlinson,” she breathes._

_“Please have them hurry,” he says before pulling the wire from his ear and taking his jacket off. He places the jacket over his friend’s body, blood beginning to soak through the knees of his jeans._

_“I’m so sorry,” he says. “I’m so sorry, Niall,” he whispers once more feeling his eyes sting. He bites it back, holds himself together as he hears a helicopter approaching in the distance._

_\---_

It had been four months, and Louis still wouldn’t talk about it. So many people had asked, despite a sealed-lip policy, but Louis never budged. He stayed vague even in his report. The only people that got the tiniest tidbits were his close friends: fellow agent Zayn Malik and his handler Liam Payne. The story had struck particularly hard with them due to their closeness with Niall and Louis, and their secret in-office romance. They both saw the way it affected Louis, the way it changed him. It made him cold, stone-faced and agile. It made him dark.

Though young, he quickly made a name for himself. He’d taken out some of Europe’s biggest criminals, and he made enemies along the way – a lot of enemies. He’s got scar at the top of his left shoulder blade from a bullet that grazed him just two and a half months ago as he left the grocery store. He’s on the hit list of every person that values what they do and has a score to settle.

Louis sighs as he hears a knock on his door, “Sir?” he hears Marcus call, “Sir, it’s time to go.”

They make it to Boss’ office fifteen minutes, two elevator rides, and five security clearances later. Boss’ real name is Erik Brandt. He’s not what most people expect, if they ever come face-to-face with him. He’s 6’2 with a slight build and short black hair, and he’s only 32. He took over at the age of 28 after his father lost his longstanding battle with lung cancer. He likes Louis because Louis gets shit done.

“Agent 17,” he also never called anyone by name, unless they were already dead, said it was better to never be attached; it’s also why no one ever calls him by name. “I’m sure you know why you’re here.”

“Let’s get this over with,” Louis says, plopping himself in one of the two leather chairs in the corner of the over-furnished office. “Where is he?”

Boss is quite for a moment, eyeing him, “We’re not trying to replace Niall, 17.”

“The hell you aren’t,” Louis furrows his eyebrows, “He’s my _new_ handler.”

“You can’t do this alone,” he says sternly.

“I can. I have,” Louis counters.

“We’re not trying to replace who Niall was to you. We’ve had this conversation. It’s not up for discussion. He’s in the locker room. Marcus will introduce you. You are dismissed,” he nods once before turning back to the papers on his desk.

Louis stands immediately, walking out the door and not waiting for Marcus to catch up to him before heading to the elevator and pressing for level 4.

When he reaches the locker room, it’s empty. He walks into the gym, looking out of the wall of glass windows to the in-ground pool and the body swimming through it. ‘ _Great_ ,’ he thinks.

“Well,” he says, turning to face Marcus. “He’s a bit busy. I’m going to go work out.”

“I’ll get him while you get changed,” Marcus says.

“Or you could not and say you did.”

“It has to happen eventually, Mr. Tomlinson,” He says sadly.

 Louis lets his head fall against his locker. He hears a door close and enters the code on his locker, stripping off his suit. He’s just pulled a pair of basketball shorts over his hips when he hears the sound of wet feet slapping against tile.

“Agent 17,” he hears Marcus address him professionally but refuses to turn around as he reaches for the grey shirt in the back of his locker, “This is your new handler – Harry Styles.”

Louis eyes widen, his hands freeze, his breath catches. _‘Please, no,’_ he thinks, spinning on his heel to finally face the pair. _‘Oh, shit.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nodibs.tumblr.com / @delilahfiction -- for updates, info, etc. x


	3. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovely readers. I'm back off the mini-hiatus I took as I was moving. Here's the long overdue second chapter. As always, feedback is very much appreciated. xxx

Louis swallows down his plea for someone else, _anyone_ else, and forces the corners of his lips to bend upward. He doesn’t meet the younger boy’s eyes as he reaches a hand out, but he can already see the similarity in him, between _them_. 

“Louis Tomlinson,” he greets, shooting Marcus a sideways glance he understands as his cue to leave. “It’s nice to meet you, mate.”

“You, too,” Harry smiles.

 Louis leans back against his locker, taking in the boy. He’s certainly grown from the last pictures he saw, as he was packing them into boxes from his former partner’s office to send home. He’s surely taller, and those wild and unruly curls that would only just fit within the picture’s frame hung in heavy, dripping ringlets. Strong jaw and broad shoulders, poised and composed, not even a hint of uncertainty in his honey-dipped hazel eyes, the greener pigments giving off their own air of confidence.

A weight fills Louis’ stomach, a sinking feeling that sends flashbacks of something small and silver that still rests inside the top right drawer in his desk. The last piece he ever saw of his partner, of Harry Style’s father.

“You’re quite young,” Louis comments, almost distractedly.

“Nineteen,” Harry clarifies.

Louis nods, “So what brings you here, Harold? May I call you Harold?”

Harry’s eyebrows draw together and he blinks twice before mumbling a soft, “It’s…just Harry. Not short for anything.” Louis shrugs, bringing a foot to rest flat on the wall behind him and crossing his arms over his chest. Harry copies that movement, bringing his arms across his bare chest, feeling a bit more vulnerable with the change in topic. “I’m here because my father used to work here. He, um, he was an agent. He was killed by Mario Nerezza,” he says, his words heavy, and Louis raises his eyebrows in faux shock. “Yeah,” Harry says to Louis’ nonverbal reaction.

"There's no room in this business for vengeance or vindication, kid. Trust me," Louis shakes his head, looking back to his locker.

“Good thing I’m neither vengeful nor vindictive,” Harry says boldly. Louis turns back around, gesturing with his hand for him to continue. “When…when Boss sent for us, my family, to tell us… what happened, he had - I guess he’d looked into my school records. He saw my skill with computers and whatnot, and they’d left me a business card. All it had was a phone number and a note on the back to call when I’d turned eighteen. I’ve been training since. I just want to understand, I guess.”

“Understand what?” Louis asks from behind the thumb he’d pressed sideways to his lower lip.

“What it was, is, about this job and this place that kept him. My mom… I remember them fighting, it would come in waves. She’d beg him to just give it up. ‘It’s just a job,’ she’d say, but he’d just say she didn’t understand, or he’d just go drive for a while. That’s whenever, the rare occasions he was home. And I know he loved us. I just want to know what it is about all of this that he loved more.”

Louis’ got a crease between his eyebrows, his mouth pulled into a tight line, his head tilted slightly to the right. It’s so hard, because Harry has no idea: of his father’s love, Louis’ association, the silence he’ll have to keep if he wants to even have a shot in this business. He doesn’t say any of that, though. Instead he looks down for just a moment, nods his head, and straightens up.

“Well, sunshine, I hope you find what you’re looking for,” his voice is sincere, but his blue eyes dance with something slightly dangerous. Harry seems to sense that, that’s the end of the conversation, thankfully. Louis nods at him once more before making his way into the gym.

\---

Two days later, it’s gone just past three in the morning when Louis’ phone buzzes softly on his bedside table. Louis’ eyes shoot open before squinting slightly, adjusting to the harsh light quickly. He takes a deep breath, knowing he has to wake himself up. The text is simple enough, _’17 to HQ A.S.A.P – joint mission with 13.’_

Louis sits up slowly, stretching his arms above his head. He’s just happy that, if he’s being forced to work with someone on a mission, it’s Zayn. It takes a moment, but he then registers the fact that this will be his first task with Harry as his handler. It’s enough to make him drop back onto his bed with a soft, resistant _‘thud’_ from his pillow. Well, at least Liam will be there, too.

\---

Louis, in usual fashion, is the last one to walk into the conference room. Zayn, Liam, and Harry are all sat at a large, dark-wood round table, binders in front of them full of case details. Marcus is stood up front with his laptop and whiteboard.

“Nice of you to join us, 17,” Marcus says with the kind of annoyance he can on muster up when he’s had little sleep.

“Innit?” Louis agrees sarcastically, smiling as he takes the empty seat directly across from a very sleep-worn Harry, next to Liam, who, being the saint he is, hands Louis a cup of tea. “Bless,” Louis says, kissing his cheek.

Marcus sighs, resigned, and continues with his explanation of their case. “Three reported missing persons cases in the past three days – all having waited 48 hours to report. A car was pulled from the river just last night that family of the first missing person, Marina St. James, confirmed as hers. The other two are Sara Clemens and Daniel Cloud.”

“Alright, unfortunate as it is, three unaffiliated missing persons cases can be handled by the authorities. Why are we really here?” Louis says, bringing his elbow to the table and resting his chin in his palm, looking bored.

Marcus sighs heavily again, “They aren’t _unaffiliated,_ Mr. Tomlinson. Marina,” he begins, pulling up a picture of a young woman, mid-twenties with blonde, shoulder-length hair and a smoldering smile,” is a prostitute, addicted to cocaine. Her dealer?” He presses a button that brings up a picture next to Marina’s. It’s a woman, worn by time and life and the prospect of something larger, wrinkled and too young with bobbed brown hair, thick eyebrows, and sad, _sad_ yellow eyes – a honey brown so light you could swim in it. “Sara Clemens. 28, unemployed as of February this year, she owns a small flat outside Birmingham, but sources have told us it’s been vacant for months. Her boyfriend,” he continues, pressing another button that brings up yet another picture beside Sara’s is that of a young man with a broad build and wide face. His head’s shaved, but he’s got a small black soul patch, “is Daniel Cloud, who also happens to be one of Marina’s biggest reoccurring ‘customers,’ if you will.”

Louis groans, “C’mon, lads. This is obviously murder suicide. Sara found out Daniel was fucking Marina on the side and went mental. They’ll find them all in some back room of a strip club in a few days and all will be settled.”

Marcus, halfway through Louis’ ‘conclusion’ brought his hand up to pinch at the bridge of his nose, “There’s more,” he sing-songs, not moving his hand. “There’s money.”

Louis perks up at that, “I’m listening.”

Marcus scoffs, lifting his head, “Daniel recently came into quite a bit of money. One million American dollars, to be precise from some off-ring gambling circuit he had with former co-workers of Jimmy’s bar. Our undercover agent over there has kept me informed of the gossip, and, apparently, the last anyone heard was that cops were starting to snoop around.”

“So they faked Marina’s death and fled town without his bird,” Louis guesses, throwing his hands up.

“Marina,” Marcus says louder, shooting Louis an exasperated look, “found out at the bar and went mental. She told Daniel that she’s pregnant, and when he told her to fuck off, she said she’d tell Sara.”

“Okay? And what are we supposed to do?” Louis pushes.

“Louis,” Liam begins to scold, “Just listen.”

“Because I know where they are,” Marcus says firmly. “Daniel and Sara have Marina hostage, because she threatened to go to the authorities with information on the money.”

“So, we’re just going to inform the cops then, right?” Harry asks quietly, and Louis wants to pet his curls at his naivety.

“Not exactly, Curly,” Louis smiles at him. “If it were that easy, we wouldn’t be here.”

“You mission,” Marcus begins, motioning to their binders, “is to infiltrate the building, take whatever action necessary,” he says, giving them all a look that three-fourths of the table understand as ‘you can kill whoever the fuck gets in your way’, “and retrieve the money. After that, given the – circumstances – we’ll consider bringing in outside enforcement.”

“Cops?” Harry clarifies.

“Cops,” Marcus affirms.

“I think it goes without saying that we should try and watch out for Marina, seeing as she is pregnant. But, you know, if things get too messy…” He trails off.

Harry looks around at all of them, a sad sort of shock on his face, and Louis, once more, is overcome with the urge to wrap him in a blanket and make him tea and ask him to just reconsider this job before he loses all faith in human decency, but he doesn’t. Instead he smiles sadly, tilting his head to the side as Harry reaches his eyes, “Welcome to the game, babycakes.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nodibs.tumblr.com / @delilahfiction

**Author's Note:**

> for updates, previews, questions, comments or concerns: @delilahfiction / nodibs.tumblr.com x


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